The Trans-life Cafe
by BigBadger
Summary: The war on Auraxis is a grim thing. You enlist, you train if you're lucky, you fight and you die. Then you come back. But whatever happens in between?


**This was just an idea that came to me when I was playing. It's just a bit of fun, and I don't have any idea what it'll turn into or if it'll get very far at all, but feel free to R/R anyway.**

Another volley of booms shook through the night. The corporal turned back, watching the ridgeline whose top had been coated by a layer of smoke from fire. The Conglomerate vanguards had been bombarding the fortress for weeks now, and each day the column of tanks, Sunderers and transports grew thicker, and more and more soldiers from both sides joined in to endure the chilling, icy breeze and the din of war for a chance at glory.

He glanced down at his shoulder plate and let the shining golden eagle at his side fill him with hope. Its golden trim seemed to resonate something inspiring, even under the dark canopy of a night in Esamir, where a pair of moons and the green and white of distant stars was the only light. They were nearly through, he heard the shouts of the Terrans a hundred metres northwards grow more desperate by the day. It was time, now. The final push.

As if on cue, a comrade ran down the ridgeline behind him, taking shelter behind the rock which the corporal was using for cover. "Come on!" He yelled, "Move on up!"

The corporal grunted and curved around the rock, gauss rifle in tow. He broke into a sprint alongside dozens of others, ducking past the rattling of Terran rifles and the whistling and howling of rockets. He ducked behind another piece of wreckage; a burning lightning with a crimson stripe down its rearmost tread, its turret gone and its cabin in flames. He looked behind him and saw no less than 10 soldiers in blue. Several lay still, but most were groaning in pain. He felt worse for these ones; at least the ones who died quickly came back fresher and sooner.

He risked a glance, seeing the flickering gate of the fortress 10 metres away. A cluster of soldiers in red were guarding it, firing in bursts at the Conglomerate forces that still poured over the ridge. He saw a trio of them scattered by an explosive blast, two losing a limb each which spun through the air and spat blood over the snow. Backing down when another of the men in red saw him, pointed and then let loose a volley of rounds which clinked against the tank, he breathed heavily.

From behind him, the roar of an engine and churning of snow into slush caught his attention. It was a vanguard that had made its way down from its vantage point to spearhead the charge. Obviously the crew thought the shield would be down soon, and for good reason; the corporal looked again, and the red screen was flickering weakly. As the vanguard advanced and its basilisks laced the enemy lines with fire, the corporal charged out behind it.

Immediately hell broke loose again, the chattering of TR rifles getting shouted down by the metallic tearing and blue flashes of gauss fire from alongside the corporal. One in particular, a trooper clad in heavy blue armour, charged alongside the man, each burst of his SAW provoking a blood-curdling scream and another soldier dropping to the ground. Once they were close enough that the Vanguard had to stop, the corporal darted around and met one of the stragglers head-on. The man's eyes were hidden by goggles, but his mouth contorted into a sadistic grin and he lashed out with his weapon stock with a yell of hatred. The corporal was hit in the chest, tripping to the floor, and the Terran rose over him. He was almost ready to resign himself to death – after all, he would just come back – but he'd heard the stories, and he'd never died before. It was an agony that he didn't want to experience just yet.

So with defiance he grunted even as the Terran lowered the barrel of his rifle so that it tickled his nose, tearing his mag-cutter from his shoulder with a satisfying scrape that he was sure had cut its sheath in two. He stabbed upwards, lodging the end of the blade between the Terran's crimson chest-plate and his limestone-grey under suit. The man stopped, whimpering to himself in shock and clutching the end of the blade.

The corporal took the initiative, scattering to his feet in a frenzy, aiming his gauss rifle at the man and planting his trigger-finger down. The man yelled and his eyes rolled over. He fell. Clusters of men in blue had come together at the gate, howling and hooting as the shield began to flicker more regularly and with more of a struggle. After a few seconds it fell, and the mass of Conglomerate mercs and soldiers and disheartened civilians charged into the fortress, the Vanguard tearing up bloodied slush as it followed them in. The corporal joined the herd.

The mass came to an abrupt stop, and the corporal planted a hand against the back of someone in front, who turned and cussed at him. There was yelling from the back of the pack, yelling of vented adrenaline and confusion. The soldiers began to fan out, handfuls splitting off around crates and into buildings. At last the corporal got a clear view. He was in a courtyard, no larger than a car park, interspersed with crates in brick-orange and grey that were large enough to fit a Sunderer inside. There were bodies lying around in rough battle-lines, so that from high-up the snow would seem to be laced with little red blobs that gradually became bluer and more concentrated as you neared the gate. The vanguard halted next to the corporal, letting its horn bleat defiantly into the night. A hatch opened, and a lithe woman's upper body darted up.

"Hang on, hang on, where are all the TR?"

The Corporal shrugged. She sighed. "Fucking great!" She yelled at nobody in particular. Several passing soldiers turned to her, their faces mirroring her rage.

"If I don't get another target within the next 10 minutes, I'll-" She stopped, and slumped forward. Red liquid began to leak from her head.

"Holy- Shit!" The corporal stumbling to a crouch behind the vanguard's chassis out of gut instinct. Unlike what the Terrans said, the blue-and-gold weren't all incompetent.

It turned out to be a fruitless attempt when the rumbling of engines from the sky became evident, with large silhouettes scything through clouds and lowering their cargo. Small mites buzzed around them – Mosquitos, the corporal guessed, as he did all he could: He stood and stared at the Terran counter-attack. They had all walked right into this, quite literally.

Within seconds, explosions rose from the depths, brought on by a barrage of missiles and shelling from the Galaxies that hovered like carrion birds. Little black shapes were falling from them, and wherever they landed, that familiar _spit-spit-spit_ of Terran fire rose up, met with the clunking response of the Conglomerate forces in the base. The corporal listened in horror as the metallic _clunk_ became rarer and the tapping of the Terran TRAC's became more common.

He yelped in shock as someone dropped ahead of him, on the other side of the Vanguard. He raised his rifle, and so did the corporal. Both sides barraged each other, and each man's shields sizzled as they struggled.

But the Corporal's fell first.

He didn't notice it as first, as he gunned the Terran down, but as he crouched again his stomach felt oddly warm. It seemed to tingle.

He looked down, saw the spreading stain, and immediately felt woozy. Slumped against the Vanguard, letting his back rest against it as he slid down. He thought it was just the dizziness that made him see the distortion of light beneath a crate's shadow.

He was wrong.

The Terran uncloaked a few metres away, as if toying with his food. He strolled up calmly in that arrogant Terran way, and the boasting of the sniper made the Corporal feel almost as sick as his wounds did. The Terran stopped and pulled out little dagger whose blade was interspersed with chain-saws.

"What's that you say," The Terran chuckled, "Liberty or death? Guess you had a 50/50 chance."

He kneed the corporal in the face before driving the blade home.

-X-X-

The corporal woke up with a start. He was sat in a chair, and it felt warm. The whole room felt warm, whatever it was. He was at a round table, and he could smell coffee. In a blue ceramic cup, a line of steam was billowing up and tickling his nose. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked at the owner.

It was a man in a full-white suit, with a golden trim. He wore a blazer and trousers and a dickie-bow tie. He spoke with all the gentle coercion of that one School-teacher that you can't help but like.

"Hello, friend! Whatever the reason that you are here, I hope you enjoy a pleasant stay at the Translife Cafe!" He shot the Corporal a brilliant grin. "Now, is there anything I can get you?"


End file.
